


I'm Not a Cynic

by RandomGuygoesviral



Category: Epithet Erased (Cartoon)
Genre: Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Headcanon, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Insomnia, Self-Doubt, Stimming, comfort items, god how do i tag this, its my fic i get to make the hcs, neurodivergent sylvester ashling, not directly stated but its implied, sylvie has adhd, thats not a tag for some reason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:21:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26300080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandomGuygoesviral/pseuds/RandomGuygoesviral
Summary: It was almost ironic, honestly! A therapist who couldn't follow his own advice and a person with a sleep epithet that. Just. Can't. Sleep!
Relationships: n/a
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	I'm Not a Cynic

**Author's Note:**

> hi so its currently 4 in the morning. i wrote this as lowkey a vent because it is... real insomniac hours for me! i am so so incredibly tired but my brain sure wont stop working! so i projected. like you do. also! the title is just the name of a song by Alec Benjamin. So.

It had been some time since Sylvie had gotten like this. It wasn’t a thing he liked admitting to himself was a problem. Which was… ironic. For multiple reasons. You’d think the therapist would be able to recognize and accept the fact that he had a problem. You’d also think that the guy with an epithet relating to sleep would be able to, you know,  _ actually fucking sleep! _

He let out a tired groan, letting his forehead thunk against his desk. It might bruise. It probably wouldn’t. Either way, his hair would cover it up. So it honestly didn’t really matter to him all that much. His fingers drummed persistently atop the keys of his keyboard, a half typed document on the much too bright screen. Maybe it was part of the reason that he was still awake. Except, you know, the fact that he hadn’t written a word on it in 45 minutes and there was a blue light filter on! 

The time on the computer read 3:47 a.m. He knew that it was a few minutes fast, comparatively to all of the other clocks he had. So it was probably actually more like 3:45. Not that it actually… mattered all that much. The only time something like that would matter is trying to turn in an assignment just a few minutes before it was due- and since he’d graduated college, that wasn’t so much an issue anymore. Speaking of time though, maybe he  _ should _ eventually figure out how to fix that time. Just because he wasn’t in school anymore didn’t mean things didn’t still have due dates. That could get him in trouble- he’d really been meaning to fix that stupid thing for forever. What if he ended up submitting something late and it got him-

Okay. Okay no. That, Sylvester, is how to spiral. He was not in the mood to start spiraling over his computer’s clock being two minutes fast. That was stupid and paranoid and Dr. Sylvester Ashling was  _ neither _ of those things. Submitting a report two minutes late would absolutely  **_not_ ** get him fired and it was entirely idiotic of him to think that it would! Two minutes would get him a slap on the wrist, maybe, if people were being strict. Not fired, though. Obviously. 

But what if it-  **_No._ **

He slammed a fist against the desk or at least what he thought was the desk. The clattering of keys and sudden plunge into darkness was an indicator that no, he hadn’t quite managed to aggressively bash his hand into the desk. It was his laptop! His work computer! Which he had just managed to shut off with his fist. Had he remembered to  _ save _ the document he hadn’t touched in 45 minutes? Great! Just great! This was all just  _ wonderful! _

His hands flexed and he sat up, expression twisting into that of aggression,” I! God- I’m- I was! That was a  _ research paper!” _ Sylvie’s fingertips twitched as his hands drifted upwards, knotting themselves in his hair. “ **_Why_ ** do I never remember to save things that are that important! I’m supposed to be better than this! Sylvester why aren’t you better than this?!”

Pushing himself out of his desk chair and to his feet, the young male began pacing around his dark room. The only light that existed was faint, blue, and came from his laptop's charging cable. So basically, he couldn’t see squat. It was fine, through. He knew the layout of his room well enough to not trip on anything. Well. There was no way he was getting to sleep now! Sylvie was  _ way _ too wound up for that! 

Wait. Wound up. 

He took a deep, puffy, breath, walking carefully towards his wall and feeling along it. A bright, startling light washed over the room as the lightswitch was flicked on. Sylvie still had his eyes squeezed shut for a few moments, before slowly opening them one by one- squinting. His eyes stung. That was probably from the exhaustion, or the fact that he was suddenly exposed to light, or- his glasses! He wasn’t wearing his glasses! He took them off when he tried to go to sleep earlier! Which would probably explain the developing headache. 

He walked over to his bed and leaned across it, grabbing his glasses from the bedside table. Sitting cross legged on the bed now, he slipped his glasses back onto his face, blinking as reality focused around him. Okay. Sure. So far so good. Sure, his hands were still shaking slightly with frustration and the anxious knot in his chest felt rock hard, but he wasn’t even trying to calm down yet. This was a work in progress operation. It- he… he didn’t have to be fine yet. 

A beat passed before Sylvie leaned over his bed once again, feeling the blood rush to his head as he grabbed his overcoat. Rummaging through the pockets for a minute, he produced an orange yoyo. Relief washed over him as he slipped it onto his middle finger. It fit comfortably in his hand. Sitting up resulted in a wave of dizziness, but it didn’t last for too much longer than it took to sit up. Other than a pounding in the head. But that itself was fine.

Sylvie shifted his position on the bed, legs dangling over the side. A soft, breathy, sigh spilled from him as he ran a thumb across the surface of the yoyo. Okay. Things were okay. He was calm. The yoyo was thrown out in front of him and he almost subconsciously tugged it back into the palm of his hand. Things like this had become second nature over time. The repetitive, familiar, action and the familiar object were soothing. 

Maybe he wasn’t going to be able to get to sleep. He knew that. It was… fine. Worse things had happened. He’d gone longer without sleeping. At least he was doing something that calmed him down, though. Sylvie knew himself pretty damn well, unless he was doing  _ really _ badly. He knew how easily that could have spiraled into an anxiety attack or a breakdown. Coping skills! For someone who taught other people those constantly, he sure didn’t usually do a good job at utilizing them!

A yawn bubbled from his chest and the yoyo thwacked softly against his cheek. Which… yeah, that was about right. He was too tired to really care, though. Tired and unable to sleep, but tired. God, he was going to drink  **_so much_ ** coffee when it was finally a socially acceptable time to be awake. 

**Author's Note:**

> even if this was kinda a dumb fic i wrote really late at night: comments and kudos are always appreciated!  
> i like getting feedback on my work, no matter how mediocre i personally think it is.


End file.
